


Shrewd's Fool

by Masterpiece_of_turkey_cleverness



Category: Farseer Trilogy - Robin Hobb, Fitz and the Fool Trilogy - Robin Hobb, Tawny Man Trilogy - Robin Hobb
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-04-25 16:05:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14382147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Masterpiece_of_turkey_cleverness/pseuds/Masterpiece_of_turkey_cleverness
Summary: By now, most have heard of the enormous love I bear for my Catalyst.  Not even my Beloved knows of the first time I fell in love, however.





	1. Chapter 1, aka I'm bad with titles

**Author's Note:**

> Work in progress...and my very first fanfiction ever. Please be gentle. No underage sex (even if the young Fool isn't technically underage), but this fic will reference sexual abuse implied in Robin Hobb's original work.

_By now, most have heard of the enormous love I bear for my Catalyst. Not even my Beloved knows of the first time I fell in love, however. There exist many parallels between my first love and the situation in which I now find myself, so, having recently read over several of Fitz's musings, I have decided to set this story into words in an attempt to decide what I will do. I do not know if anyone will ever find this, but if you do, and you choose to continue to read, please be kind. Fewer things are as frightening as experiencing love for the first time, and it was particularly difficult for me, given my background. But, then, I'm getting ahead of myself..._

When I first caught sight of Buckkeep, I shivered as if I had just stepped away from a warm hearth into the freezing cold outdoors. The Keep, clinging like an overlarge mussel to the rock, was nearly as familiar to me by then as the back of my hand--I had dreamed of it so often I thought I could probably walk through it blindfolded, despite the fact that I had never stepped foot in it. I knew I would one day find my Catalyst there, and in the meantime needed to ingratiate myself with those in power. I shivered again at this thought, for by now I knew much more than I wanted to of the ways of powerful people, thanks to the Four in general, and Capra in particular. I had already endured...much...during my journey north, and wanted nothing more than to disappear into obscurity until my Catalyst came and it was time for us to jostle the great wheel of time. 

Of course, that was not to be my fate, though I had engineered a method of disappearing while in plain sight, thanks to a little trial and error during my voyage. Speaking of which, my companion had just said something--inane, I'm sure; the man could not manage to spot a witticism if it danced in front of him naked. I gave him my most vacant of smiles, then mumbled something unintelligible and made an obtuse gesture at the keep. The wagon driver smiled at me condescendingly and nodded, saying, 'Yes, that is right, clown,' while over-enunciating and speaking twice as loudly as he would to a normal person. A part of me hated him for it, but a part of me blamed myself for taking on the role I had chosen, that of a simpleton. 

I have always liked being underestimated. Well, liked is perhaps too strong a turn of phrase. Time and again I have been able to use being underestimated to my advantage, but sometimes I have to suppress the urge to scream at my audience and tell them what fools they are, or to announce that I am the true White Prophet and they should be listening to my counsel, not laughing at my strangeness or my antics. I have never been wise, but at least I have that much control of myself, even if that control was taught to me by the end of a whip. 

Richard, the so-called 'leader' of our travelling troupe, reined in his horse some distance in front of the wagon and inspected the area critically. "This would be a good place to set up," he declared. Richard never just 'said' anything; he would declare or announce or elucidate or proclaim, but never do anything as ordinary as say. His gift for elocution served him well when he collected the entry fees to our show, though it never seemed to serve him as well with the ladies as he might like. "I shall go discuss arrangements with the landowner!" It was typical for us to stay some distance outside of town. Frequently, this was due to the fact that strangers are ever blamed for any trouble that happens in a town while they are present, but it was easier to get the wagons and such in and out of a fallow field than the center of town--particularly in a place like Buckkeep town, where the roads in the town itself were steep and difficult to navigate on a horse, let alone a wagon. 

I sat smiling my secret smile to myself while Richard negotiated the use of the land from the landowner, a process which took an hour or so and the promise of free entry. I cared not for the arrangements, for I planned to be away from the caravan that night. I could not easily travel through a town in daylight by myself, with my pale skin and eyes--demon eyes, a man told me once, while making a sign to ward off evil. Come the end of the performance tonight, the troupe would be missing one of its clowns. I wondered if they would bother to search for me. Even if they did, I would not have felt guilty; they never bothered to give me a share of the coin they earned, since I was but a fool. They considered their moral obligation toward me met as long as I was fed enough to stave off starvation. Still, they were far from the worst companions I had had on my journey north, and I would miss Elinor, the woman who made most of the costumes. She had been kind to me when I journeyed with the group, making sure that all of my motleys fit and occasionally sharing sweets, tea, and gossip with me, even when I feigned a complete lack of understanding. I always pretended to enjoy our talks, however, for I felt that she was another lonely soul and was glad of any company, even mine. 

I wondered suddenly what I would have to feign when I arrived at the Keep. I had dreamed enough to know that they would take me in and I would become the Keep's jester. I knew that some few would treat me with kindness, and that the majority of people I met would fear, and therefore hate, me. This I knew, however, more from my previous experiences in the world than from any particular dream. I hoped--desperately--that the reigning monarch, one Shrewd by name, would have more of a sense of humor than his name implied. I was not certain how I would fare if I were not actually able to make people laugh, for that was the mask I intended to hide behind, standing in plain sight where no one in the world knew me. 

Finally, the negotiations finished, and it was time for me to climb out of the wagon and help to set up the tent. Before we left the road, I took one last look at the castle which was soon to become my home, and I shivered once more. In dread or anticipation or both, I could not tell.


	2. Performances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and constructive criticism are welcomed :).

_The first time I met King Shrewd, I had no idea what he would eventually come to mean to me. At the time, he was merely a means to an end--becoming his Fool would allow me to find my Catalyst while I hid in plain sight from everyone else. I would be able to go wherever I wanted, at least within the Keep, and perhaps have the ability to influence someone who could help me unravel a few minor knots in the Tapestry of Time. Moreover, I would know exactly what went on at court without enmeshing myself too far into its politics. At least, that was my plan._

That afternoon found me walking upside-down on my hands down the line of people who had come to see the show and were waiting to pay their two coppers to gain entry. I was one of several performers out amongst the crowds, inside and out of the tent, doing my best to make people want to part with their money. The reactions to me were mixed, as always. Some children pointed and laughed delightedly--my favorite reaction--while others, especially the young, would get scared and start crying, demanding to be picked up by their parents or older siblings. One small child in a family saw me before the rest of her family, and I watched her eyes widen as she took in my pale countenance. I knew that tears were an immediate possibility, so I sprang upright and then gave the child a deep, courtly bow, which just happened to hide my face for a moment. My bells jingled merrily as I moved, and perhaps that was what nudged the child away from tears, for when I straightened up, she was beaming at me and clapped her hands. I grinned back, careful to hide my teeth, and then reached toward her head, using sleight of hand to make a small flower appear. This I gave to her, and she laughed and put it in her hair as the rest of her family turned around to see what was occupying her attention. I could not stop smiling for a few moments; encounters such as these were what gave me the strength to continue my journey. 

Although I was ostensibly easing the wait for the crowd, my own goal was to learn what I could about the current monarch, the court, and the general workings of the town and Keep. I heard a great deal, and what I heard eased my heart somewhat. King Shrewd apparently lived up to his name. More than that, however, the people generally liked the reigning monarch. He had recently surprised all by marrying for love, not for political reasons. He was not a callous man, then, I thought. The people also spoke well of his two older sons; apparently Princes Chivalry and Verity were being raised well, and many thought that Chivalry would make a good king after his father died--not, everyone noted, that there was any chance of that, because despite his years, King Shrewd enjoyed great health and vigor. In fact, he had just recently fathered a son, one Regal by name. 

Nothing that I overheard made me question my plans, so that night I packed my few belongings, including the small doll that I had somehow managed to bring all the way from Clerres. Capra had given it me, and perhaps I should thus have tossed it into the sea at my first opportunity, but I could not help it. I have always, always loved beautiful things, and this was one that belonged to me. Though I was much too old for dolls--not that I looked it--I still found myself holding it occasionally, whenever I felt that the world or myself lacked beauty. I had held the doll many times on my journey north, and wondered how often I would have to do so in Buckkeep. 

The morning dawned clear and, to me, cold, though the further north I got, the more cold it was, and I knew it was not even harvest time here in the Six Duchies. The smell of the sea was ever-present, and I could see a fog bank laying off of the coast that would probably roll in later in the day. I found myself walking up the steep road to the Keep, bells jingling merrily all the way. Luckily, I had become accustomed to the sound; I can only imagine my torment had I been born a person sensitive to even such tiny noises. My small pack was on my back, and the scroll I had forged stating that I was a present for King Shrewd was in my hand, convincingly stained and travel-worn. When I got close enough to see the gate, I pasted a vacant smile on my face. With a surge of energy that could only come from making a Dream come true, I skipped up to one of the guards, bowed to her, and handed her the scroll. 

Both of the guards, dressed in blue, looked me up and down as I arrived. I saw the man instantly dismiss me as unimportant and non-threatening and go back to watching down the road. The woman, however, carefully took the scroll from me, opened it, and read the words. Her brow furrowed a bit as her lips mouthed some of the larger words, and then she gave me a nod. 'Wait here, please.' I was shocked, both at the kind tone in her voice and also at the fact that she hadn't spoken me any different than she might have had I been a milliner carrying flour for the kitchens of the Keep.

No one else approached the keep this early in the morning, so I began to study the other guard. He glanced at me and frowned slightly, giving me the universal glare of someone who has no sense of humor. I couldn't help myself; I immediately took up the female guard's old position and began mimicking the male guard. He only looked at me out of the corner of his eye, but he still frowned. I had been right--the man utterly lacked the ability to laugh at himself. He began to shift his weight and was clearly considering turning on me when the female guard returned. She immediately saw what I was doing, and raised her hand to her mouth to hide her smile from her superior officer, who walked behind her. I turned to them, dropping my guard routine, and gave the new man a perfect curtsy as the woman took her place once more. 

This man was large, his features dark and bluff. He looked bored as he took in my motley. 'So you're a fool, ey, boy? Think you're fit to perform before the King? Go ahead, give us a performance, then. Show us what you can do.' The captain of the guard then leaned back against the stone wall and crossed his arms. The female guard also turned to look at me, while the male guard just continued to scowl. 

I smiled beatifically at him, showing him my tiny teeth, and took a few steps back so I had room to move. Having done that, I backflipped a few times, then walked back to them on my hands, making farting noises with my mouth each time my hand met the earth. I have never personally seen the appeal of farting jokes, but for some reason most men consider them the very height of humor. Sure enough, the captain was chuckling by the time I got back, but the female guard just rolled her eyes. Sensing that I was losing half of my audience (I was not counting the man without a sense of humor), I leaped upright and pulled a number of small wooden balls from various hidden pockets around my person and began to juggle for them, a feat which did indeed make the woman smile to see. In the midst of the pattern, I suddenly tossed one at the scowling guard--underhanded; I may have been a Fool, but was not fool enough to begin my tenure at Buckkeep by injuring a guard. The others quickly disappeared into my pockets. 

Time seemed to slow down a bit. I watched the guard's eyes widen from his scowl, and his arm start moving as he instinctively tried to catch the ball. This caused him, however, to drop the pike he was holding. It clattered to the ground as he fumbled the ball, which hit him lightly in the chest. Both the female guard and the captain doubled over laughing, as I capered about and, for good measure, made some farting noises before repeatedly mimicking the male guard dropping his pike, until my audience was nearly crying with laughter. The male guard scowled at me, threw my ball back rather harder than I had thrown it at him (I caught it, and tucked it into a pocket), and then picked his pike back up, his face going stony and red as he turned to watch down the hillside. 

Several hours later, after a hearty meal and a repeat performance in the guard room, as well as many hours of waiting and looking vacant while various people read my scroll, I was admitted to a room containing one Lord Dignity, who, I had gathered, was in charge of deciding whether or not the King would be bothered with my scroll and, indeed, with my person. Dignity was seated in a comfortable chair near a hearth. His long hair fell to the side as he canted his head to listen to the servant who had come in with me. The servant whispered an explanation to him, and then handed him the scroll. Dignity nodded, dismissed the servant, and then began to read. I stood where I had been left, in the middle of a rug with muted colors that spoke to Dignity's apparent preference for simplicity in design. I still had the vacant smile on my face, and I hadn't spoken a word to anyone since I had arrived. I had decided to, at least initially, appear as if I couldn't speak; it would make people underestimate me even more. 

After a few minutes, Dignity looked up. "Well," he said, eyeing me, and proceeded to speak mostly to himself. "You are meant for the King, it seems. But first, I must make certain your skills are worthy.' He suddenly began speaking at the top of his voice and enunciating over clearly, "Jester. Perform, please."

It was all I could do not to loudly repeat the words back to him with the same careful pronunciation. The man might well have had dignity, but he was clearly not especially gifted in the thought or interpersonal skills categories. I was tempted to test the boundaries of that dignity with a few jokes that had gone over especially well in the guardroom, but chose instead to bow carefully. I showed him my hands--nothing there--and then I pulled out the wooden balls again. I began with a simple juggling pattern, but then started adding additional balls. When I had seven going in a careful circle, I began tossing one twice as high as the others. It was fun to watch Lord Dignity's head nodding as if he were about to fall asleep while he watched the trick. I went through all of my juggling tricks, finally making each one disappear behind my back one at a time. The man sitting opposite me was smiling, and had applauded one or two of the more impressive tricks. 

I bowed, and then held up a finger. I walked forward, and allowed him to see both the backs and palms of my hand, to show him I had nothing in them. I then formed my mouth into a little 'O' of surprise and leaned forward, plucking at a loose thread on his doublet. I grinned at him, and then began pulling on the thread, which soon became a number of colored scarves, knotted together. His eyes lit up very much as if he were a young boy, and I knew I had him. I stepped back with a flourish, and began doing sleight of hand in earnest, making coins and other objects appear, disappear, and generally keeping Lord Dignity on the edge of his seat. I finished by pulling an entire bouquet of flowers out of my sleeve, and bowed as I presented them to him, then held still. 

'Oh, marvelous!' he enthused, clapping for some time before accepting the flowers from my hand. It seemed that he, at least, was not one of those who refused to get close enough to touch me. :"Marvelous. The King will love you." Something about his words struck me in an odd way, although I knew not why. I had given up remarking on such happenstances long ago; such is the life of a true White Prophet. 

Dignity called in servants again, and bade them find chambers and the like for me. I was shown to a room at the very top of a tower, for the Keep was overfull in preparation for harvest celebrations. The servant, who seemed very nervous around me, then explained where I could get food, water, wood, and the like. I nodded vaguely along with his instructions; I feared otherwise he might repeat himself. Eventually, I was left alone, and told to wait until the King could summon me. 

It took several days for that to happen; as I was to learn, a King's time is very valuable, and should not be wasted on fools. In the meantime, I kept to my chambers as much as I could, not wanting to move about the keep without permission or, more importantly, protection. I ventured out to the garden once, only to have to climb a wall to escape a gang of children--not that I escaped, completely, but at least I had paint which could cover the bruise from the one punch that had managed to connect with my face. 

So it was that I was somewhat sore and depressed when I first met my King. I didn't let it show, however, keeping a simpleton's smile on my face as I was ushered in to see Shrewd. To my great surprise, the man was alone; the servants left after depositing me in his sitting room on a rich blue rug. I went down on my knees and bowed. Although I am an irreverent sort, I knew enough to not do anything to anger the man in front of me. 

'Stand,' came the order almost immediately, and I did. King Shrewd stared at me for quite some time, meeting my eyes in a way that most people cannot, even to this day. 'Come here,' he said, still staring at me, and I walked closer to where he sat. My scroll was on the table, and he was playing a game of cards with himself. A glance told me that he was winning, too. So. It seemed that Shrewd might actually live up to his name. 

There is a loneliness in being clever. Most people don't wish to associate themselves with anyone who is substantially smarter than they. They may ask advice of this person, or children will let the smart one come up with activities, but when it comes to actually participating in those activities, the smart child will almost always be relegated to the periphery of the group. Few people, adults or children, can bring themselves to trust you, knowing that you are smart enough to manipulate them. Worse than how people treat you is how you feel. Knowing you are smarter than most people in the room does not give you a sense of self-worth. Instead, you largely feel either annoyed or guilty: annoyed, when people won't listen to you and you know that you are right, and guilty, because you know you are occasionally wrong, and this might be one of those times. 

Now imagine being both prescient and clever, and you will have some idea of what I normally feel while in a room with other people. Even my dear Fitz mistrusts me sometimes, because he knows both how smart and how deceitful I can be when I want to. And Fitz is my closest friend, and, I would like to think, I his. 

In any case, I believe you can now understand why hope leapt inside my chest when I noticed that Shrewd might be an intelligent man. Spending time with someone who is as smart as you are is a great relief for clever people. Thus, I immediately found myself kindly disposed toward the King. Meanwhile, Shrewd's calculating gaze appeared to finish taking my measure, and he looked back down at his cards and placed one before glancing up at me. "Perform for me." 

My hand moved a centimeter toward one of my pockets, but then stopped. There had been nothing in his inflection or his gaze to indicate he meant anything other than tumbling or juggling. Yet, my instincts were railing against that course of action, and I am a creature that always listens to its instincts. To this day, however, I still do not know why I went as far as I did. I had meant to keep everything a secret, to never let on to anyone except perhaps my Catalyst that I was anything other than a simple jester. But I looked at King Shrewd, and I couldn't do that. Instead, I gave him another bow, and then for once in a very long time straightened up and spoke the truth. "Your Majesty, I apologize, but my dreams do not come at my command. I can try to interpret those I have already seen for you, however, if you will give me a question to consider." And with that, all of my carefully honed masks disappeared, and I stood naked before a man I knew nearly nothing of. 

Shrewd's lips curled up in a small smile, and his dark eyes shined at me. Much later, I would find that I had won him a bet with Chade over whether or not I would admit I was capable of seeing the future. "Then ponder this, White Prophet, for so the Bingtowners named you. How many children will I have with my new wife?" His voice was gentle, yet commanding at the same time. 

_Bingtowners?_ I wondered, but Shrewd had asked a question I knew the answer to, for I knew how vulnerable the Farseer line was. "As many as now you have, Your Majesty, unless an unexpected son comes from your union." I surprised even myself with the alacrity of my answer. "But I do not think that will be the case." 

Shrewd calmly nodded, as if he had expected the answer. He had, I realized suddenly. Something must have happened recently between him and Queen Desire, for the talk of Buckkeep Town was that the two were still madly in love. "And what advice would you give me, prophet? What one thing should I do to ensure the prosperity of my kingdom?"

Once again, I knew the answer, and immediately rattled off the rhyme about not doing a thing until you have considered how it would limit you. I saw a nexus point, and knew that it was exactly the advice that he needed, to one day remember and help nudge time into a better course. Meanwhile, once again, the King nodded. "Please, sit," he invited me, gesturing to the floor beside him. "We have a great deal to discuss. You will be my new fool, and will stay close to me. I will feed you and give you whatever it is that you need. When we are alone, you will remember forward for me and advise me when I make important decisions. In company, however, you must act the fool, giving no one else any indication that you are anything but a simple jester. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," I replied as I sat, and with that, the nexus point closed fully. I was where I was supposed to be and who I was supposed to be and in the midst of the time that I was supposed to manipulate. I suddenly felt as if a large weight had been lifted off of my rather small shoulders.


	3. The Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Queen Desire is a bitch. But we all knew that already.

_My surmise had been correct; King Shrewd and Queen Desire had had a terrible fight the night before I arrived. Apparently, she wanted to spend the winter in Tradeford, but Shrewd insisted she remain at Buckkeep. She had informed him, quite bluntly, that he might be able to force her to stay, but he couldn't force his way into her bedroom. I took this as one more piece of evidence that true love wasn't real...although a tiny piece of me always thought of my mother and my fathers, and how happy they had always seemed._

My feeling of satisfaction did not last long. Shrewd finished his card game, and then began to call in other visitors. The majority frowned upon glancing in my direction, and a few actively shied away from me. I made sure to give these my widest smile, tiny teeth and all. Few actually made mention of me to the King; each had a purpose for visiting the monarch, and most of them did their best to keep to their preferred topic. Shrewd proved to be excellent at manipulating people, however, and several times he masterfully manipulated the conversation, steering it away from problems he had no intention of solving. More, many of his subjects left his sitting room certain that the conversation had gone entirely in their favor. 

I was a little awestruck.

All too soon, evening approached. As Lord Dignity left us (I had done some more juggling for them, when he expressed an interest in how Shrewd found me), servants came in to prepare the King for supper at the High Table. I used the garderobe while they were fussing over the details of his wardrobe, and then slipped quietly back into his dressing chamber. When I did, my breath caught in my throat. King Shrewd was shirtless, waiting for his bodyservant Cheffers to bring him a fresh garment. The light from the window was illuminating him in a way where I could see every muscle, every tiny scar, every hair on his chest. 

He was beautiful. 

I hadn't looked at him like that before, caring only for the power he could provide me with rather than about who and what he was. But when I saw the light hit him, I was seized by a desire to learn all I could about the man I would be working for. I knew more than I had that morning, but it suddenly was not enough. Nor, it seemed, was there enough oxygen in the room. Before anyone could catch me gawping, I turned away and steadied myself, willing my body to return control to my brain. When I turned back around a few moments later, Cheffers had already placed a bright red shirt around the torso I'd been admiring. This time, Shrewd glanced at me and then beckoned. "Come, Fool, you can entertain us at supper." With that, he swept from the room. I followed him, having to trot to keep up.

I wasn't paying much attention to those around us, so when the screaming started, I was caught off-guard and had to look up to see what was going on. The Queen (or so I surmised, given the crown she was wearing) had come out into the hallway with her attending ladies. The look of horror and disgust on her face made me wonder what was behind me, for surely some demon-spawn or nightmare was pursuing the King, the way Desire was screaming. I immediately glanced behind (I will say it again; I have never been wise, and more than once my curiosity has gotten the better of me), but saw absolutely nothing. I was still wondering what it was that they saw when a slippered foot hit me in the middle of my chest, knocking me onto my back. The air in my lungs left my body as a grunt, and I suddenly had an unenviable view of the patterns the soot from the torches were making on the ceiling. 

"Desire. Stop this immediately," came the command from King Shrewd. I saw a brief flash of purple skirts in my peripheral vision, and then they disappeared. 

"What. Is. That. _Thing?_ " came Desire's demand, dripping with scorn. "Get it away from me! Right this instant!"

" _That_ is my new fool," Shrewd explained in a patient tone, though there was a hint of frustration underneath. "H--" he broke off suddenly and glanced in my direction as I slowly sat up, "The fool is a present from the Bingtowners. I'll thank you to avoid doing any more damage to...my gift." I noticed the slight hesitations in his tone, though I'm not certain anyone else did. Many of the ladies were actively fanning themselves, and peering around the King and Queen at me. A few crossed two fingers in front of them and mimed spitting to one side to ward off evil.

"But it's _repulsive._ Shrewd, you must send it back. I don't care what it can do, surely there are others in Bingtown who are capable of wearing motley and farting on command," Desire retorted, her face still contorted with disgust. "I will even pay for its passage myself. Shrewd, can't you see it's deformed? It belongs in some...some show of oddities, not even in this backwater castle. No, it doesn't even belong in a show. It should have been put out of its misery at birth."

I climbed to my feet, shaking slightly. Negative reactions to me were nothing new, but Queen Desire's words and actions constituted one of the most extreme I'd ever experienced. I couldn't give my usual vacant smile, so I hid behind the King's legs instead, making some sad whimpering noises that I thought were probably over the top, but might earn me sympathy with one or two of the kinder-hearted ladies. I peeked out from behind the King to see if my ruse was working, but apparently kindhearted wasn't what Queen Desire required in her companions. Nearly all of them were glaring at me, as if I had offended them just by existing. I supposed that I had, at that. 

"No. You will leave the fool alone. If you cannot bring yourself to eat at the high table while he performs, you might want to have your ladies bring you something so you can eat in your room," Shrewd replied. "Because tonight h--the fool will be entertaining me." 

"Fine," snapped Desire. "We shall eat in our rooms, then. Come, ladies." Her purple skirts flared as she rounded on her heel and flounced off, her ladies following. I was reminded of a flock of starlings--each one pretty in their own respect, perhaps, but nothing more than a loud, annoying nuisance when put all together in the same place. 

Shrewd watched Desire go and then shook his head and glanced down at me. I could see the question he wanted to ask, but could also see he did not want to ask in front of his guards. Instead, he turned towards them. "See that none of the guards obey any orders to hurt my new fool," he told them, and they nodded. Once again, Shrewd began walking, and once again, I followed in his wake. This time, I paid a bit more attention to my surroundings.


	4. The Hearth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter will reference sexual abuse implied in Robin Hobb's original work, and there is also a description of a panic attack. Please skip the chapter if that sort of thing upsets you--you won't miss much of the story.
> 
> I'll be without internet for a few weeks, so probably no more updates until I get back in mid-June. Sorry!

_Perhaps now you begin to see how, on that terrible day, I was able to accuse my Catalyst of being a traitor to the crown. While I would desperately like to believe that Fate nudged me toward making that much too public of a declaration, I cannot fool myself, fool that I am. Despite our difference in ages--although not as substantial as many believe--I had come to love my king, in the same way I now love Fitz. With all my heart, without any limitations. But, given that my first experience with love caused me to accuse the very same Fitz of killing King Shrewd, I am now terrified of what actions my love for my Catalyst will lead me to take. Will I still be able to use him, as I must? More importantly, will I be able to give him up when we finally face the Pale Woman? Will there even be anything to give up by then?_

When I awoke the next morning, I was shuddering with cold. My fire had gone out during the night, and the tower room turned out to be quite drafty. The temperature outside must also have dropped precipitously--when I glanced over at the water basin, sunlight reflected off of the ice that coated the top. I nevertheless forced myself out of bed and through my ablutions, pulling on my warmest motley, which unfortunately turned out to be not nearly warm enough. All of the tiny bells were set a-jingling by my continued shuddering as I dressed. Who knew the blasted North could be so cold? Worse, it was not even yet winter. My body temperature has always been lower than that of a normal human's, and as a result, low temperatures have a much greater effect on me. I crave heat nearly as much as the average cat does. 

Heat was, unfortunately, not what the day had in store for me. Between that and my sudden recollection of Queen Desire's words from the day before, I was a bit melancholy as I made my way through the castle to my King's rooms, stopping to wave at the guards with a smile when I reached them. The guards' eyes slid over me, likely taking in my motley and my pale face, before opening the door and allowing me access to the chambers. 

I slipped inside, still shivering with the cold, and glanced about. There were servants present, so I bowed to my King as he sat at his table and kept my guileless smile on my face as I made my way over to sit by his feet. The morsels he fed me were no longer warm, so breakfast did nothing to ease my repeatedly tensing muscles. King Shrewd glanced down at me once or twice, and I could have sworn I saw a look of concern on his face. I doubted it, however; he knew I was the White Prophet and most likely just did not wish me to become ill and die before he had more use of me.

"I wish to be closer to the hearth," the King declared suddenly, startling several of the servants. They nevertheless did as they were told, moving table and chair as the King stood up to watch. He walked over and seated himself in the chair again before saying in an absent tone, "Here, Fool." I stood up and walked over to where he had moved. When I sat, I was blessedly close to the hearth and its warmth. As the meal was cleared away and important letters and other documents were brought before the king for his response, I leaned back toward the fire. The heat slowly sunk into me, warming me from back to front, and I loved every moment of it. I thought briefly that the King must be uncomfortable, as he was doubtless much more used to this temperature than I, but if so, he made no complaints. 

Slowly, my bells stopped jingling as I stopped shivering, and I began to think more clearly. When a rather pompous noble delivered a long speech to the King along with a letter, I waited until he turned his back and then imitated him, with his sweeping hand gestures and his habit of wrinkling his nose. I heard a rather ignoble snort from above me, which was quickly disguised as a cough. When the noble turned back around, both King Shrewd and I were looking at him serenely, and he was forced to mumble a wish for continued good health for the King. Shrewd's hand came down and patted the back of my head, and it was all I could do not to laugh.

Later that day, after the King had gone for a ride (I had not accompanied him and had spent the time instead climbing many flights of stairs with heavy loads of wood in my arms), he returned to his chambers and dismissed the servants. I thought I knew what was coming; we hadn't been alone since the day before, and it seemed that all of these Northerners were always desperate to know what gender a child was. Personally, I never could understand the fascination. A child was a child; what matter was what was between their legs, as long as they kept themselves clean? 

I was wrong, however. "Are you well?" came the unexpectedly solicitous question as Shrewd sat down in a chair which, I could not help but notice, was nowhere near the hearth. 

"Yes, Your Majesty," I replied, after glancing around the room to be sure we were alone. "I am quite well."

"Why were you shaking so hard this morning?"

"I--I apologize, Your Majesty. I am not accustomed to the cold here," I explained with a shrug. "I imagine I will get used to it over time." At least, I desperately hoped so.

"Ah," he replied, though Shrewd was far from done with me, and his dark eyes continued to bore into my pale ones, never glancing away. "I will instruct Mistress Hasty to sew you some warmer garments. This morning seemed rather...extreme, however. Where is your chamber?"

"At the top of a tower, Your Majesty. The...third from the right as you look up at Buckkeep if you approach it by land." 

"Ah." I was struck by the fancy that he immediately knew where exactly my chambers were, and was mentally recalling them to himself for a moment. "Yes, I know the one. More chinks than mortar." He pursed his lips for a few moments and eyed me in a way that made me drop my eyes to the floor, though I was not entirely sure why. The silence stretched for a few seconds, and then he cleared his throat. "Since I am unlikely to be sharing my Queen's bed any time soon...Yes. You may sleep in my room, on my hearth. That way, you will be warm. It will also give us some privacy."

Some god or goddess must have been looking favorably on me that day, because I am certain that when my head whipped up at his words, I had a look of open-mouthed horror on my face. King Shrewd was already walking away from me, however, having gotten to his feet to walk to the bellpull to summon a servant. I immediately bowed my head again and tried my best to school my face and my thoughts. I barely heard the conversation between the servant and King Shrewd about taking me to Mistress Hasty to be measured for some new, warmer sets of motley. I still thank all the gods that most of the shock was gone from my face when the servant walked over to pull me to my feet. Normally, I would not let anyone touch me--let alone someone with the look of disgust on their face that he had on his--but I was stunned, and allowed him to take my arm and lead me from the King's chambers. 

I followed the servant in a daze; I am certain that that day, I truly looked simple to everyone I met as we walked through the castle. It was going to happen again, and again, I had no choice in the matter. I had chosen Shrewd because he had the most power in the kingdom, and that meant that no one else was powerful enough to stop him, even if they were inclined to do so. 

I was deposited in Mistress Hasty's sitting room and told to wait, but as soon as the servant left I found the garderobe and threw up everything I had eaten that day. My heart began to pound in my chest as if I were sprinting from the very Wheel of Time itself, and I began to shake even harder than I had earlier from the cold. I retched until there was nothing left in my stomach, and then climbed to my feet and began pacing in the tiny chamber, hands clenching and unclenching hard enough for my nails to break the skin of my palms. _It was going to happen again._

I tried not to think of the memories; I truly did. But as you know, trying not to think of something has the complete opposite effect, and I was soon curled in a corner of the chamber, crying bitter tears as my heart continued to try to pound out of my chest. Huge sobs shook my shoulders as the adrenaline shook the rest of me. Fellowdry had--but I find that even now I cannot write of it. I am certain you already know, in any case. Fellowdry was not the only one; I met many horrible people on my journey north. I dearly hope that I will be able to make the changes to Time that I need to make, to make certain that one day there will be a world where such things as that do not happen to any child. 

Whatever deity had smiled on me earlier was still looking over me, for Mistress Hasty did not return for over an hour, and no one else came or went from her sitting room. I eventually calmed down, and then managed to dry my eyes and my nose. I even located some wash-water to make myself slightly more presentable by the time she came in. And if my pale eyes were terribly red while she and her ladies walked round me, taking my measure with lengths of yarn, well, it probably only served to enhance my reputation as a demon and a freak. I kept my eyes downcast anyway, not able to smile at any of the women as I normally would. I hoped my reticence would be written off as shyness.

As soon as they finished, I fled up through the castle to my tower room, threw myself on the bed, and began to cry again. I knew I would have to present myself for the evening meal and...and what would follow, but for now I could pretend I was still occupied with Mistress Hasty.


	5. Reasons to love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fool is wrong. But we already knew that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still some questionable references to uncomfortable topics in this chapter; skip this one too if such things bother you. The next chapter and the rest of the story will be free of such mentions unless the story goes in a really unexpected direction, in which case I'll warn you. 
> 
> Also, I'm back! I'm thinking I will probably finish this up in a few more chapters and then go on to write...who knows what, honestly :).

_I will never understand how a man can look upon a youth and desire them. I am a lover of beauty in all its forms, yes, but never has my heart begun to pound in my chest at the thought of bedding someone so young. I did not begin to fall in love with Fitz until he became a man; indeed, I was so besotted with my King for so long I barely paid him any attention until he arrived in Jhaampe nearly frozen to death. It was only when I saw his ruined face that I realized how handsome he had always been._

I will admit, I was shaking again when I finally summoned the courage to wait on my King later that day. Although my face-painting skills then compare rather unfavorably to my abilities now, I had drawn a pattern of abstract black lines over white paint that both made me look exceedingly odd and made it difficult to read my expression. I was desperately hoping that the first might somehow negate the need for the second, though I knew that was unlikely with someone as decisive as King Shrewd. 

I attended him that afternoon and performed for the entire Hall that evening, despite Queen Desire looking as if she had bitten into a particularly sour berry the entire time. Thankfully, Shrewd did not pay me any undue attention that evening; I am certain I would have had another fit if he had. Instead, he mostly ignored me and, during supper, mostly watched his nobles’ faces instead of my performance. He also made quiet conversation with the Queen, even though she did not respond, and encouraged Chivalry and Verity to use their best table manners. The former frowned seriously as he tried his best not to make any faux pas with his utensils, but Verity just waited until his father looked away to shove an entire chunk of bread in his mouth, his cheeks rounding out like a chipmunk’s. That set the serious-faced Chivalry to laughing, and soon I had to dodge bits of bread as Verity began to guffaw, unable to help himself. When Shrewd turned and reprimanded them, he was clearly fighting to hold back a fond smile. Despite the dread I felt about what would happen that evening, I also smiled. I had to wonder, however. How could someone who loved their children so much think of bedding someone else’s?

When I had finished performing, Shrewd waved me over to his side and began feeding me from his own plate. I had no objection to this, but when he offered his wine cup, I nearly flinched away from it before I tamed my rebellious body. Did the King want me drunk? That was, after all, how Fellowdry had preferred his partners. But no, Shrewd gave me enough to slake my thirst, no more, and then began almost absently feeding me again while he discussed the kingdom’s history with Chivalry and Verity, who were now on their best behavior. I relaxed enough to begin making faces at them whenever the King wasn’t looking at me. Once again, Chivalry did his best to ignore my antics, while Verity covered his laughs with coughs enough times that he was soon swept away from the table by his nurse, who was certain that he had caught a cold. 

I cannot say in truth that I remember much more of that evening, even though Shrewd stayed up late, dicing with his nobles. I was focused entirely on controlling my body, forcing it not to go into yet another fit. I reminded myself that I had been through all of this before, and despite the humiliation and the pain, it would probably be over quickly enough. Besides, I knew one day I would ask my Catalyst to undergo equally adverse trials, and I would be a terrible hypocrite if I were not willing to make sacrifices as well. Still, why is it always –this- sacrifice I must make? Why must the ones I come to love not return it, and the ones I despise force themselves upon me? 

All too soon, King Shrewd declared that he would retire. I hopped to my feet beside him as many of the nobles stood, stretched, and made their own excuses to leave. Time seemed to leap erratically from point to point from then on, until I was alone in the King’s bedchamber wearing a plain nightshirt Mistress Hasty had sent along for me. 

I was doing my best not to curl into a tiny ball at the foot of the bed when Shrewd came in, wearing much the same clothing I was, though his nightshirt was made of much finer material. Spotting me, the King waved toward the hearth. “I asked Cheffers to set a pillow and blanket down there for you. Did he forget?” 

I very nearly had to ask Shrewd to repeat himself. I had expected many things, but not a gentle inquiry regarding my needs. I glanced over toward the fire automatically, then shook my head in the negative. “No,” I replied, my throat dry. “No, they’re there, Your Majesty.” 

“Good. And there’s no reason to stand on ceremony when we’re alone, Prophet,” he continued as he pulled back the sheets on his enormous bed. “Feel free to seek your bedding whenever you want it, whether or not I’ve found mine yet. I do not know how much sleep you need to prophesize, but I charge you now to get as much as you need, even if you must leave me of an evening, unless I specifically ask you not to.” As he spoke, he sat down on the side of the bed and kicked his boots off. 

I had hastily shut my gaping mouth, lest some night-bat fly right down my throat into my gullet. “Y-yes, Your Majesty.” I began to edge toward the hearth, my heart soaring with hope. Did this mean that he really just wanted me to sleep in his room for my own comfort? That he had no intention of using me for his own pleasure? In this time and in this place, had I found a man who did not seek to hurt others just because he had the power to do so? 

Apparently I had, for he wasted no more time climbing into his bed and then blowing out the candle he’d brought in with him. I stared at his covered form for a few more seconds as he shifted around to get comfortable, then, rousing myself, made my way over to wrap myself in the blanket left for me. The king’s fire was roaring, and I soaked in the crackling sound of the fire as well as its heat as I slowly allowed myself to relax, feeling warm for the first time I had arrived at Buckkeep. I considered the idea that I may turn out to be comfortable and happy here, waiting for my Catalyst to appear. Of course, life is rarely that simple, but for once, as I fell asleep, I was actually optimistic about my future. Well, the next few years of it, at least.


End file.
